


lost, but not forgotten

by houseofskywalker



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: Rebels, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Barriss and Mira are sisters, F/M, Family Drama, Family Fluff, Family Issues, Feudalism, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Loss of Parent(s), Mirialan Ezra, Mirialans (Star Wars), Mother-Daughter Relationship, Past Infidelity, Poverty, Sister-Sister Relationship, Worldbuilding, i guess this is
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-05
Updated: 2020-10-05
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:07:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26838712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/houseofskywalker/pseuds/houseofskywalker
Summary: Mira Offee is only sixteen when her father dies and she has to become the breadwinner of her family. Crippled by poverty and the looming threat of starvation, the only bright spot in her life is her precocious little sister, Barriss—who can make kitchen utensils fly and dead flowers bloom again.(Or how Barriss ended up at the Temple, and Mira in Lothal.)
Relationships: Barriss Offee & Luminara Unduli, Ephraim Bridger/Mira Bridger, Ezra Bridger & Mira Bridger, Jango Fett/OC (mentioned), Mira Bridger & Barriss Offee
Comments: 3
Kudos: 18





	lost, but not forgotten

**Author's Note:**

> This is an elaboration of an Offee Sisters AU I created back in the days on tumblr and it just became part of my personal canon. I've always considered Barriss and Mira to be sisters. This will be part of a Barriss centric series.

There is no funeral. 

They bury her father in a mass grave, among the other factory workers who died in the same accident. While her mother wanted to use his job stipend to give him more of an honourable burial, Mira had inherited every bit of her father’s practicality; _they,_ the living, needed the money, not the dead. So she ignored Soumaya’s weak protests, and agreed to throw Ezra Offee’s still warm body on top of many others, to be drowned in dirt. As miserable of a death as his life had been.

Her face is a stony mask. She repeats the customary prayers that have been drilled into her brain since birth, but her faith has wavered long since then. There is no use of praying to a god who has abandoned its creation. 

Ezra was a pious and religious man. He took his family to the temple every week without fail, and prayed that he’d _finally_ get a promotion, or that their crops would survive, or that some other miracle would occur which would improve their lives. 

And Ammon, their god, failed him every time. 

“Minnie. _Min—nie_!” 

Mira cranes her neck down. A ghost of a smile passes along her lips. “Yes, Bari?”

Barriss tries to squeeze her wrist, but her little fingers can’t quite reach around it. There’s a knot between her eyebrows. “Why don’t you cry?”

“I’m a big girl now. Big girls don’t cry.”

“But you’re sad! I know it. Cry! You’ll feel be better.”

Mira reaches down and gingerly pats Barriss’ pigtails, which shine a brilliant red in the watery afternoon sun. _Definitely not Offee hair,_ she thinks bitterly. Mira’s father has—had, she swallows, _had—_ inky black hair, and so does their mother. 

“Are _you_ sad, Bari?”

“Uh-huh.” Her eyes shine with tears as she looks back at the burial. “I don’t feel Baba. But..." Barriss twiddles her thumbs, burrows her bare toes into the sand. "I can’t make _him_ sad now. That's good.”

Mira’s face cracks. It’s times like these that she wishes Barriss was just _normal_. No child should ever feel unwanted. Not that Mira blames her father for it. Not so long ago, Mira resented Barriss too.

Once the burial sand is patted flat, the hordes of grieving families start to thin out until it’s just the Offees. Soumaya waddles closer, hands on her rounded belly, and whispers something Mira can’t hear. There are fat, wet blobs of tears on her cheeks, and Mira bites back an instinctive scathing remark.

They walk back home. Barriss, as tiny as she is, rides on Mira’s shoulders while holding Soumaya’s hand. She points out the stars peeking through the sunset in the sky, rattling off names. 

“ _Those_ are the suns of Tatooine. And look there! That’s Ryloth’s star...”

Sounds like complete gibberish to Mira. But she nods all the same, oohs and aahs along with her mother as Barriss spins tales of planets and worlds she’s never seen.

Their house is less of a house and more of a glorified barn. It’s an extension from their landlord’s stables which he’d ‘graciously’ offered to his dirt-poor tenants. The roof is rickety and there’s only enough space for two beds and her mother’s sewing machine—cooking, bathing, even relieving oneself is done outside. 

Mira gently lowers Barriss to the ground and the toddler darts away, undoubtedly to go bother the moonhorses. 

Soumaya wistfully stares after her youngest daughter. “She scares me sometimes.”

“She’s _four_ , Mama.” 

“It’s just that sometimes I feel as if… as if I’m on borrowed time with her,” she sighs. “Bari isn’t meant to be here.”

Mira shifts uncomfortably. Her mother has always had a ‘special sense’. Similar to the mystical powers the priests possess, except hers is more intuitive. And it had carried over to Barriss _—_ but far, far stronger.

Then, Soumaya laughs and shakes her head. “I remember when you were four. So serious already—your father’s twin through and through.” She cradles her belly. “I hope your brother won’t be so dour.”

There’s no evidence that her latest sibling will be a boy (it’s not like there are any medical centres around here, and they can’t afford the midwife), but Barriss said it’s a boy, so it will be.

And right now, it’s equally the most insignificant and most pressing issue in Mira’s mind. “Listen Mama, the factory won’t pay out the rest of Baba’s contract. We only have this month’s wages left.” 

“It’ll be fine _—_ ”

“ _Don’t—_ ” Mira sighs, tries to rub the wrinkle in her eyebrow smooth. “Don’t say that. Nothing will be fine. I need to take his place at the factory.”

“Absolutely not. What you _need_ to do is finish your studies.”

“My studies won’t do kriff when we’re starving to death. And I haven’t paid the fees this year.”

“The headmistress said it’s fine,” Soumaya insists. “Sweetheart, please. We worked so _hard_ to give you an education _—_ ”

“No. Unless you have a pot of gold hiding somewhere, we need money. Soon, we’ll have another mouth to feed. I’m going to work tomorrow and that’s it.”

Soumaya tries to look angry, but she’s right _—_ Mira _is_ Ezra’s daughter, and Soumaya has never been able to convince Ezra of anything. “I’m not happy about this.”

“I don’t care if you’re happy, as long as you’re alive.”

* * *

It’s her first day at work, and Mira wishes she could follow her father to the grave. 

Despite her thick Akk leather gloves, she burns herself anyway, and there’s still dots in her vision from when the sparks of the plasteel flashed in her eyes. She’s a terrible melder _—_ and her supervisor tells her just that.

“I’m docking half your pay,” he grunts.

Mira wipes the soot off her forehead. “My mother is pregnant! I need the money _—_ ”

He just sneers at her. “I guess you’ll just have to put in extra hours. This isn’t a charity. Do your work and do it _well_ , or starve.”

Or starve. It’s the quantifier of her life, and those of her fellow Mirialan peasants _—_ do this or starve. Work till your blood’s dry, till soot crusts on your body like second skin, till you inhale and exhale naught but plasteel fumes _—_ or starve.

Mira can starve. Her family can’t. 

She bends over and goes back to work. And burns herself again.

* * *

When Mira wakes up the next day, her hands are smooth.

She wiggles her fingers. They don’t ache, they don’t hurt. Skin unmarred, as if she’s never used them before.

Barriss peeks over Mira’s cot, eyes wide and nose squished against the bed railing. Like the little goblins from her bedtime stories, the ones Soumaya would scare her with. “They looked like they hurt,” she whispers, “so I fixed them.”

There’s no point in asking the how. No one knows how Barriss does anything, let alone Barriss herself. 

Mira just leans over to drop a kiss on her forehead. It lands somewhere on her nose, and it makes Barriss giggle, but Mira’s already drifted back to sleep. 

Her dreams are beautiful.

(With a helping hand from Barriss, who stays at her big sister's side _—_ not that she'll ever know.)

**Author's Note:**

> This fic will be pretty bittersweet, and it gets only sadder from here—but every dark tunnel has a light at the end :)
> 
> Hope you enjoyed! Would love to hear what you thought of this chapter.


End file.
